


The Buddy System

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Clarke is wary of even asking Monty to be her fake boyfriend for the weekend. Hiring Monty's boyfriend's roommate for the job is a stretch, but at least he seems cool. (And easy on the eyes as a bonus.)





	The Buddy System

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apanoplyofsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apanoplyofsong/gifts).



> Happy (slightly belated) birthday my friend! Have some fake dating. You deserve it. <3

"What's your going rate?"

"Depends what you want me for," Monty says, never missing a beat. "I don't sell weed anymore, but if you want some I might know a guy. Computer stuff, I charge by the hour. If it's holding your phone for a night while you drink so you don't call your ex, that's a flat fee of thirty dollars."

"Wow. You had that example right on the tip of your tongue," Clarke says, amused. Monty flashes her a grin.

"I did it for free for Jasper for way too long before I wised up. Why don't you tell me what you actually need and I'll tell you what it'll cost you?"

"I need a plus-one to my high school's alumni weekend."

Monty actually pauses his game to turn and look at her, which is mildly alarming. She hadn't realized this situation warranted such drastic measures.

"Okay, I have questions."

"Fire when ready."

"First-- your high school is having a _seven_ -year reunion? I mean, come on."

"It's not technically a reunion. It's-- So I went to this tiny private school, right?"

"Sounds like you."

"And about this time every fall, they have a day where they get former Alpha Prep students to come back and have career day, basically. All the upperclassmen pick a presentation to attend each period and it's supposed to be inspirational and stuff. And it is," she hastens to add. "My senior year, I only picked one seminar that wasn't STEM-related, and it's where I was introduced to the concept of graphic design. I didn't even know the field existed before. And now they're asking me to come and present on it, show the work I did with that sparkling water company last year, and it's kind of a big deal."

"You don't have to convince me that it's a good idea for you to go," Monty points out. "You just have to convince me it's a good idea for _me_ to go _with_ you."

"My ex is going to be there."

"Finally, it's getting juicy."

Clarke tosses a throw pillow at him. "It's nothing that dramatic. Just-- you remember Lexa, right?"

"Oh, that's right," Monty sobers a little. "I forgot you guys went to high school together. She's going to be there?"

"One of the partners at her firm went to Alpha Prep too, and she likes to start recruiting early." Clarke shrugs. "It's not like I want to make her jealous or anything. We're on pretty good terms these days. But-- she's bringing her girlfriend."

"You want to even the playing field."

"Something like that." Clarke sighs and closes her eyes. "I'll spring for the hotel and at least one fancy meal. What do you say?"

Monty pulls his phone out, opening to the calendar app. "When is it?"

"Last weekend in September."

"Oh." He frowns. "I actually can't make that weekend work. It's Nate's parents' thirtieth wedding anniversary and they rented a mountain cabin for a family vacation weekend."

"Aww, and you're part of the family," Clarke coos teasingly, laughing when he chucks the pillow back at her.

"They love me. And I want to keep it that way, so--"

"So you're out."

"Sorry."

"It's fine," she says with an overdramatic sigh. "I can find someone else. Maybe Wells would fly home if I begged enough."

"You know--" Monty pauses. "Never mind."

"What?"

"I was just going to say... Nate's roommate has answered some of those Craigslist ads before. You know, people asking for fake dates to weddings and stuff?"

"I didn't know people actually did that outside of Hallmark movies." Clarke frowns. "You think he'd do it?"

She's only met Bellamy, Miller's roommate, once or twice, always in big enough groups they didn't interact much. If he's Miller's friend, he's probably a good guy. Even so, this favor felt kind of like a lot to ask of Monty, her actual friend. It feels like a ridiculous thing to ask of a stranger.

"For money?" Monty says, raising his eyebrows. "Hell yeah. Out of the goodness of his heart? I'm less convinced."

"I could come up with some money. If he'd really do it."

Monty opens a new text, because he's the best.

"One way to find out."

* * *

"Clarke?"

Her head snaps up. She'd been bent over her phone, waiting for Bellamy to text her and let her know he'd arrived, but apparently he hadn't had any trouble spotting her in the tiny Starbucks down the street from his and Miller's place.

"Hey. Thanks for meeting me."

"Sure." He shrugs and pulls out the chair across from her.

He looks pretty much how she remembers him: shaggy dark hair, freckles, crooked smile that accentuates the scar on his lip. Perfect arm candy, honestly.

"I gotta say, I was pretty intrigued by Monty's texts." He looks at her critically, but there's a twinkle in his eye when he says, "You're looking to hire an escort?"

"I knew I should have made him let me proofread."

Bellamy chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that somehow fits the crinkling of his eyes and the laugh lines around his mouth.

"Nah, that's my own paraphrasing. You're hiring a date."

"Fake boyfriend," she amends. "Or girlfriend. I'm not picky. Really just-- I want to have someone to hang out with at this thing my high school is doing. Monty is busy and my other friends don't live near enough to drive, so--"

"So you're looking to hire a date." He smirks. "I'm not judging. What all would I be signing up for here? It's a whole weekend, right?"

"Right." Clarke sits up a little straighter. "Driving down Thursday night, staying in a hotel, which I'd pay for. There's a brunch Friday to thank us for participating, and then I have to be at the school most of the day. Saturday during the day there's a career fair, but that's more for bigger companies. Since I'm a freelancer, I didn't sign up for a booth. But then Saturday night there's a fundraiser, which I'd want to go to for like-- _networking_."

"I bet you could pack even more disdain into that word if you really tried," he teases. Clarke grins reflexively.

"I just had a moment of _I can't believe I'm going to this_. I'm going to _network_."

"At a _fundraiser_ ," he agrees, his lips twitching with laughter.

"Black tie," she admits. "My entire adult life I have actively tried not to be this pretentious, but it's going to be a room full of people with too much money on their hands and--"

"And you're a freelancer. I get it. You've got to get clients somehow." He hides a smile behind his cup of coffee, that teasing tone back when he adds, "It's okay to be a sellout. The first step is admitting it."

"You're one to talk," she shoots back, smirking. "I've never considered resorting to semi-prostitution for a quick buck."

"And where would you be if I didn't?" He cocks his head, considering. "So it's really just Friday morning and Saturday night?"

"And not making me drive four hours by myself."

"Yeah, I think I can handle that."

"Really?" Relief washes over her. "We haven't even talked about payment yet."

"Are you planning to hustle me?"

"No, but I'd rather not spend all my savings on this stupid alumni weekend."

"Then we're fine." He shrugs. "I'm sure we can work something out."

Clarke grins and sits back in her chair, realizing for the first time how stressed she was about all of this. "You're a lifesaver."

He snorts and shakes his head. "Nah. Just helping out a friend."

"A friend of a boyfriend of a friend."

"Exactly." He laughs. "Call it networking."

"I don't think you're doing it right."

He shrugs, his lips tugging upward on one side in a way that's unfairly attractive. She really might have gotten in over her head with this one.

"I'm sure you'll teach me how it's done," he says, oblivious.

Clarke gives him a wry smile.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered."

* * *

She volunteers to drive, since she'll be paying for gas and knows the way. Since he's a PhD candidate, his schedule is a patchwork of teaching, bartending, and crying over his dissertation. He keeps pretty weird hours, but it at least means that he's free to leave for the weekend after his two o'clock class on Thursday ends.

Her first thought when she sees him walking out of the history building with one of his colleagues, duffle bag slung easily over one shoulder, is _oh no_. She's gotten desensitized to the hotness of Friday Night Bellamy, who is laid back and a little bit cocky and tends toward t-shirts that show off how unreal his arms are. Clarke is used to that variant. It's her comfort zone.

The Bellamy approaching her now is Workplace Bellamy, hair combed (if not particularly styled), wearing slacks and a button-up and glasses. Clarke can't hear what he's saying as he and the woman he's walking with wrap up their conversation, but she knows from experience that it's likely smart and passionate, and she can't stop herself from watching the gestures he's making with his hands while he speaks. It's-- interesting, to say the least.

She waves when his eye catches on her car and he nods to her, making an excuse to his coworker before heading Clarke's way. By the time he reaches the trunk to toss his things inside, she's mostly pulled herself together.

Mostly.

"Hey," she says a little too brightly when he slides into the passenger seat.

"Hey. Thanks for agreeing to meet me here."

"Don't forget which one of us is doing the favor here. You ready?"

"Sure. And you can't keep reminding me about that all weekend, you know. If I was really your boyfriend, it wouldn't be a favor."

"No, it still would." She tosses a smirk in his direction. "Only I'd be paying with return favors instead of cash."

He clears his throat. "Lucky me, then. My cat broke my garbage disposal, so I could really use the cash."

Clarke laughs. "How did that happen?"

"Catticus is an asshole. That's really all you need to know." He undoes his top button, pulling at the neck of his shirt. "The real question is are _you_ ready?"

"To inspire a bunch of teenagers with the power of design? Or to see my ex?"

"Any of it."

"My strategy for both is pretty similar: be awesome. So-- feeling fine for now. I'll probably be more nervous tomorrow morning."

"Something to look forward to." He undoes the next button down, then sets to work on his cuffs, rolling them up his arms. Clarke about dies then and there, until he says, "Tell me about the ex."

"What do you know already?"

"Nothing. Monty didn't say much except that she'd be here, and that the idea of facing her was driving you to hire a _companion_."

"An ally. And it's not-- The breakup itself was mutual, the second time. But it still hurt."

"The second time? How many breakups have there been?"

"Just two." She pauses but he doesn't ask another question, so she presses forward. "We dated a little in high school. Casually. I'd never dated a girl before and I was honestly more emotional about figuring out my sexual identity than I was about our relationship. It feels kind of bad to say this, but-- I didn't put much stock in high school relationships. I figured we'd break up when we went to college, if not before."

"I don't think that sounds bad." He drums his fingers on the armrest. "When you're that young, I feel like the goal of dating should just be to have fun and figure stuff out. I'm not saying it never works out, but--"

"But that's the exception, not the rule."

"Exactly." He slants her a look. "So you guys decided not to try the long-distance thing?"

"We broke up before we even got to that issue, actually. She sort of sabotaged my chances for this really prestigious scholarship we were both up for."

"Jerk."

Clarke's laugh is sharp and sudden, surprising both of them. It puts a small, private smile on Bellamy's face, as if he's pleased to be responsible for it.

"Yeah, I was pretty upset. Felt like time to end things. But then we reconnected in college, and it felt like we were getting a second chance, you know?"

"I guess," he says, doubtful. "I don't know, though. I wouldn't have gotten to do undergrad without scholarships, so I might be touchier about that than most people."

"Yeah, I'm lucky my parents were in a position to be able to help me out," she agrees. "And there were other scholarships, even if they weren't as much money. But it didn't-- I guess by the second time around, enough time had passed it didn't feel like it was as personal of a betrayal. And we'd both matured in different ways. I thought it could work."

Why didn't it?"

"Different priorities, I guess. Our lives didn't mesh very well. We lived together, but she didn't get along with my friends and I didn't get along with hers, so we either never saw each other or never saw anyone else. It wasn't healthy, and we both recognized that."

Doesn't mean it hurt any less, she adds mentally. In fact, it had hurt even more than the first time around. More of her hopes had been piled atop their relationship in college, but that also meant more were dashed to pieces when the relationship crumbled.

"We haven't kept in touch much, but I do want her to be happy," Clarke says after a moment. "But she's also a successful paralegal and totally in love with this girl she's dating, and--"

"You don't want to face her on your own," Bellamy finishes. "I get it. So what's my role as your backup?"

"Your role?"

"Like, am I making her jealous? Are we proving how happy you are? Am I there to distract you? Defend you?"

"Oh." Clarke pauses. "I mostly want someone to talk to so I don't stand around feeling awkward and alone for three days."

"Distraction." He nods. "Got it."

"But," she ventures, "It probably wouldn't hurt to flirt a little? Make it believable that we're-- not just friends of boyfriends of friends."

"I think we can shorten that to just friends by now," he says, sounding amused. "Easier to say, anyway. But I can do flirting. How do you feel about PDA?"

Clarke takes a moment to imagine it. Bellamy's arm around her waist, his hand resting on her hip. She doesn't flush at the thought, but it's a near thing.

"Positive," she says at last. He chuckles again, and it continues to rise in the ranks of her favorite sounds. "I mean, make it tasteful. We're going to a brunch and a fundraiser, not a nightclub."

"So no ass grabbing," he says, seriously enough she has to turn and give him a stern look. When she does, she finds that his eyes are alight with humor, and it relaxes her again.

"Yeah, I think you've got the picture."

"Don't worry," he says, tone warm as he settles more comfortably in his seat. "I've got you. This weekend is going to be a piece of cake."

* * *

It was cheaper for Clarke to get one hotel room than two, and when she explains, Bellamy doesn't seem bothered, tossing his things on one of the two queen-sized beds like it's no big deal.

"It's fine, Clarke. My sister snores like a chainsaw, so I can sleep in basically any conditions."

Clarke flops back onto her own bed, making a face at how generically not soft, yet not hard it is. Hotel beds aren't uncomfortable, per se, but there's something about them that never lets her get a good night's sleep.

"You have a sister?"

"Octavia." She hears him unzip his bag and looks over to see him grabbing a t-shirt and jeans from his bag. "She's a couple of years younger than you are, I think. Just graduated with her Bachelors."

He moves into the bathroom to change but leaves the door open a crack. Clarke closes her eyes and tries not to imagine him changing.

"Let me get this straight," she says instead. "A sister named Octavia. A cat named _Catticus_. Does your whole family have a Greco-Roman history obsession, or is that just a coincidence?"

He laughs, the sound echoing off the tile. "It's just me, actually. Mom let me name O when I was little."

"And you picked _Octavia_?"

"What's wrong with Octavia?"

"For one thing it has a whole lot of syllables for a-- how old were you?"

"Six."

"For a six year old."

"What can I say? I was an overachiever." He comes back out and nudges her with his knee as he passes.

"How old are you now? Twenty eight?"

"Twenty nine next month." His bedsprings creak. "Why?"

Clarke hums. "I feel like that's something I'd know about my boyfriend is all."

"Good point. You're, what? Twenty..."

"Five." She squints at him. "Hobbies?"

"Video games and sci fi novels. You?"

"Drawing. Drinking. Napping."

He snorts. "I'm pretty sure those last two are universal. You have any siblings?"

"Nope, only child. Favorite color?"

It takes him a moment of thinking before he finally says, "Black."

"Black?" She laughs. "That's the worst favorite color ever."

"You're the worst favorite color ever," he grumbles, but she thinks he's smiling.

"Okay, okay. Favorite.... food genre."

" _Food genre_? That is not a thing."

"You don't get to make fun of me if your favorite color is _black_."

"At least I'm not straight making things up." He pauses. "But I can basically always eat a burger. Or my lola's adobo."

"Is that-- I feel like I heard you say you were half Filipino one time."

"Yeah, it's what she makes whenever we visit. You've never had it?" Clarke shakes her head and he hums. "I'll have to make it for you sometime. You're really missing out."

They're quiet for a minute and then Bellamy's stomach breaks the silence with a loud gurgling noise that makes them both laugh.

"All this talk of food is making me hungry. You need to lie there some more, or can we go find some dinner?"

"No, I'm good," she says, pushing herself up. "And I know a place."

She takes him to the walk-up burger stand she and Wells used to frequent, and they take their food to a park nearby, sprawling in the grass and talking and laughing. It's getting dark by the time they finish, and a little chilly, and when she huddles close to his side on the walk back to the hotel, he doesn't seem to mind.

"How come we're not staying with your parents?" Bellamy asks, once they're both under the covers and scrolling in an easy silence on their individual social media feeds.

"They don't live around here anymore." Clarke puts her phone away and turns onto her side to face him. "Their divorce was finalized when I was a junior in high school. Mom remarried a couple of years ago and they moved to be closer to his mom after she had a heart attack. Dad got relocated for work." She grins. "It's a lot more fun to visit him in Santa Barbara than it is to come back here, so I'm not complaining."

"I can see that." He starts to slump down on the bed and fluff his own pillows. "Light out?"

"Whenever you're ready."

The darkness covers them like a blanket, making the world soft as it coaxes her toward sleep.

"What time tomorrow?"

"Eight thirty."

"So early," he groans.

"You probably don't have to come. I mean, the food will probably be pretty good, but I can survive one brunch on my own."

"This is literally why you're paying me to be here," he reminds her. "I don't mind. I mean, I mind getting up so early, but it's for a good cause."

Clarke smiles to herself.

"Since we're in private, I get to thank you again, so-- thanks, Bellamy."

He lets out a sharp, amused breath. "Anytime. Go to sleep, tomorrow's showtime."

Showtime, she thinks as she drifts off. Right. With such an easy camaraderie this afternoon, and the smile that's still on her face from their evening together, she'd almost fooled herself.

It shouldn't be too much trouble, then, to fool anybody else, she decides. No trouble at all.

* * *

His alarm goes off before hers does and he silences it with a grunt. She cracks one eye open far enough to check the time and catches a glimpse of a broad, tan, bare back as he slips into the bathroom. It's a nice sight to wake up to, she decides as she lazes in bed in a half-dozing state for the fifteen extra minutes before her own alarm goes off.

She's just getting up when the shower cuts off. She hurriedly stuffs herself into a bra, managing to make herself decent before Bellamy emerges, hair damp, glasses on, and smelling faintly of soap.

"All yours," he says, jerking his head toward the bathroom. His voice is sandpapery with sleep and Clarke likes it a little too much. She makes herself step under the shower's spray before it really gets a chance to warm up again, the chill a shock to her system that she sorely needs.

"Is this okay?" He asks when she gets out. He's dressed a little nicer than he normally is when they're just hanging out, jeans and a Henley, like he wants to make a good impression. She has to smile.

"Yeah, whatever is fine. Is this your weekend look?"

"Nah, my weekend look is boxers and no shower, but that seemed a little inappropriate for a brunch."

"Depends on the brunch," Clarke says, smirking. She doesn't think it's her imagination that the tips of his ears turn red. "But it's probably for the best you brought an alternate outfit."

"Probably. You nervous yet?"

"Weirdly, I'm more nervous about talking to classes than I am about seeing Lexa."

"Just be prepared to talk at a bunch of blank faces," he advises. "Even when students are paying attention, they still look like they're not totally there."

Clarke laughs. "I'm not expecting to change lives or anything. I mean, looking back, this alumni thing totally changed the course of my career, but at the time it didn't feel like such a big deal. I was mostly ready for the weekend."

"Sounds about right. Just be yourself. You're pretty cool, so they probably won't antagonize you too much."

"Yeah, I'm a lot younger than most of the other speakers so I'm hoping that works in my favor."

She finishes a light makeup job and gives herself a last once-over. She's in one of her favorite outfits, jeans and a loose top that has a sort of artsy pattern on it, but suddenly she's wondering whether she should have dressed more professionally. She turns to Bellamy, who is leaning against the door and looking at his phone.

"Do I look okay?"

He glances up and smiles. "You look great."

"Not too much like a high school student?"

"Nah." He pockets his phone and stretches. "You're perfect. Ready?"

"Ready for food, at least," she says, breezing past the perfect comment. "And coffee."

"Tell me about it."

The brunch is put on by parent volunteers, which means it's held in the cafeteria, but catered externally. It's a little weird for Clarke to be back at her high school. It's smaller than she remembers, both physically and in value to her, and though she'd thought eighteen was _so_  old, even the seniors look like babies to her.

"Private school cafeterias are so much nicer than public," Bellamy grumbles when they walk in. Clarke laughs and bumps her shoulder against his.

"It doesn't usually look like this. They're trying to impress us even though we all ate in this cafeteria and know this isn't the norm."

"Still." His hand finds the small of her back as he guides her toward the food spread. "Our high school experiences were very different."

"Yeah?" Clarke grabs a plate and passes him one too. "What were you like in high school?"

"I was a little shit," he laughs. "Angry poor kid, but I couldn't actually get into trouble or I wouldn't get scholarships I needed. So I was a jackass. I'm still a jackass, but-- the good kind now. In my opinion."

"And you were a secret nerd, I bet," she teases. He steals the slice of bacon she was going for, biting into it with a satisfied smirk.

"I did okay in class."

"Uh huh." She steals a sausage link off his plate in retaliation. "You named your cat Catticus. Hate to break it to you, but the secret's out, Blake."

"You really need to get over my cat's name."

"Never."

He shakes his head. "So what were you like in high school? Little miss goody two shoes who never broke the rules, I bet."

"Not as much as you might think." They find a table in the corner with two seats beside each other, and it's a tighter squeeze than she remembers. They have to hunch close to each other to fit, but Clarke isn't exactly mad about it. If anything, it will sell their cover story.

"You're trying to convince me you were a rebel in high school?"

"I mean, I wasn't one of those kids who never met a rule they didn't want to break. I thought the dress code was stupid and sexist, which it _was_ , and I made sure the administration knew how I felt about it."

"So you were like a high school vigilante. Breaking the law to right some wrongs."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "I also got suspended for a week for sneaking into Lexa's room on an overnight field trip. Though I maintain that their rule was only about girls sneaking into boys' rooms, so I was technically in the clear."

"Yeah, totally not your fault at all," he laughs, then leans closer. "Is that her? By the door?"

She tries not to shiver at his closeness as she casts a casual glance at the room. Sure enough, Lexa and her girlfriend are standing in the doorway, looking a little bit cornered by their AP English teacher. She's got a polite smile on her face and she's dressed much more professionally than Clarke.

Clarke is relieved to find that it doesn't hurt to look at her. She'd been pretty sure she was over their breakup, as long ago as it was, but she'd wondered if seeing her again was going to dredge up painful memories. She's pleased to find that there's none of that, only a distant fondness for someone she used to know.

"That's her," she confirms, turning her body more to face Bellamy. He's watching her carefully.

"You good?"

"Yep." She smiles reassuringly. "Tell me more about your sister. Is she a secret nerd too?"

He pauses like he might resist the subject change, but then he laughs and says, "No way. She was a total jock."

There aren't any seats near them, and while Clarke is aware in the periphery of her mind that Lexa and her girlfriend have taken seats on the opposite side of the cafeteria, most of her mind is occupied with listening to Bellamy brag about his sister and teasing him about his obvious big-brotherness. She doesn't even have to try to keep her mind off the day of public speaking ahead, doesn't have to battle self-consciousness she'd have if she'd come alone. Bellamy is interesting and funny and a little bit of a dork, and she's genuinely glad he's the one here with her because before she knows it, the principal is calling everyone's attention to thank them for being there.

Clarke startles when she feels Bellamy slide closer, his arm snaking behind her to rest on the back of her chair. "She's looking this way," he murmurs when Clarke bends her head toward him.

"You don't have to monitor my ex," she says, amused. "I told you, I just need a buddy."

"You didn't hire me to be a buddy, you hired me to be a boyfriend."

"Fake boyfriend. And seriously, you don't have to--"

"Shh." He interrupts, his eyes on the principal but the small smile on his lips reserved for Clarke. "I'm trying to listen."

She shakes her head and settles in to listen, but she only gets about half of what's being said, distracted as she is by his solid presence at her side.

With about twenty minutes left in first period, they're released to find the classrooms that will be theirs for the day. Clarke fishes the car keys out of her purse and tosses them to Bellamy, who catches them on instinct.

"What are these for?"

"So you can go do stuff. I don't know. We have a kind of cute downtown area, or you could go back to the hotel and watch tv or something. However you'd usually spend a day off." She raises her eyebrows. "You didn't think you'd have to wait here for me all day, did you?"

"I brought a book," he grumbles. "And my laptop, in case I want to work on my dissertation. And there's a Starbucks across the street. I had a _plan_."

Clarke smiles, fond. "Yeah, but mine is better. Just be back at three to pick me up."

"Do I need a carpool number, or--"

"Get out of here." She swats at him and he catches her hand, pulling her in to smack a kiss on her cheek.

"Just kidding," he says, low and smiling. "Knock 'em dead today."

"Not my primary goal, but I guess as a last resort."

He grins easily and squeezes her wrist before heading out. Clarke watches him go, aware that her face is probably ridiculous, and when she turns around she isn't surprised to find Lexa lingering in the doorway. She'd known there had to be a reason for Bellamy's over-the-top display, even if her mind hadn't registered that fact in the moment.

"Hey," Clarke says, with an easy smile for her too. She's in a good mood. "Long time no see."

"It has been a while," Lexa agrees, smiling back. "You look good."

"So do you. Very lawyer-ly."

The ends of her lips curl up, but it doesn't give Clarke the same warm feelings as when Bellamy pulls the same move. She sets that aside to be examined later.

"Thank you." She pauses, considering. "Boyfriend?"

"Yeah, that was him. I thought I saw--"

"Costia."

"Right, Costia. That's going well?"

"Very well. I'm glad she agreed to come for the weekend." Lexa pauses again. "We're staying with Titus while we're in town. It's her first time meeting him."

"I wish her the best of luck," Clarke jokes, friendly. Lexa's lips twitch again.

"Yes, I told him he's not allowed to run this one off."

"Good ground rule." The bell rings to let first period out and Clarke startles, glancing at her watch. "I'd better go."

"Me too. It was-- really good to see you, Clarke."

"You too," she says truthfully. It has been good. Closure and a pleasant conversation and minimal awkwardness. It's the best she could have hoped for. "Take care, Lexa."

"You too, Clarke."

* * *

Bellamy is out front at three, as promised, with a piece of paper taped to the window that has her name carefully printed on it. Clarke rolls her eyes and pulls it down, crumpling it into a little ball that she throws at him as he pulls away from the curb.

"Hey, I'm driving here."

"You think you're so clever."

"Well, I wasn't sure they were going to let you go with me if I didn't have a minivan, so--"

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny."

His lips curl upward and Clarke has to look away. "How'd it go?"

"Pretty well, I think. It was a lot easier by last period, knowing what kind of questions to expect and stuff. What did you end up doing?"

"Mostly sat in front of my research and stressed, and then when I figured out I wasn't going to get anything done today I found a channel showing an all-day marathon of some show where this guy restores colonial-era stone houses."

Clarke grins. "Productive."

"Yeah, I think I needed it. But now I need to get out of that hotel room, so-- how do you feel about the science museum downtown?"

"I haven't been since I was in high school, but it's a good one." She stretches. "I wouldn't mind checking it out."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Between Bellamy's insistence on paying for her ticket ("You've paid for everything else this weekend, deal with it.") and the easiness between them as they wander past whale skeletons and models of the solar system, through the butterfly house and the dinosaur room, it really does feel like a date again. Clarke keeps having to remind herself not to take his hand in the crowds, not to lean into his warmth at her back when they're crowded around one of the exhibits.

Afterwards they find a nearby sports bar that's loud and crowded, televisions blaring various games from every inch of wall. It's not where Clarke would normally have chosen to eat, but the atmosphere is lively and as they squeeze into a couple of high-top chairs at the bar, Clarke enjoys the feeling of his shoulder jostling hers as they fight over the basket of fries they're splitting, his knee pressed against hers as he teases her.

It's not a date. But if it was, it would be the best first date she's had in years.

They stop at a grocery store on their way back to the hotel, and Clarke proceeds to get nice and buzzed as she stretches out next to him in her pajamas, a six pack and a box of Oreos open between them on his bed.

"Let's see. We've got Cutthroat Kitchen... American Ninja Warrior..." Bellamy says, flipping through the channels. "Modern Family..."

"I don't care," Clarke says, content and a little sleepy. "As long as it's something I can heckle."

"I'm pretty sure you could heckle anything. You strike me as an experienced heckler."

"That sounds like a challenge."

He laughs. "This is what I'm talking about."

"Oh, and you're so above heckling."

"Not at all. I love to make fun of stuff."

"I've noticed," she says dryly. He gives her a look and she has to smile. "I didn't say I haven't enjoyed it. It's why we get along so well."

"Because we're both assholes?"

She tilts her bottle to clink it against his. "The foundation of all great friendships."

He rolls his eyes and takes a long sip but she thinks he's just trying to cover up his own smile. "If you say so."

In the end they never really settle on any channel in particular, skipping around during commercials and alternating between trash-talking and yelling at the screen in exaggerated indignation. Clarke slumps further and further on the bed, eyes drooping. At some point, she's vaguely aware of Bellamy turning out the lights and she murmurs her thanks and adjusts her head on the pillow, readying herself for proper sleep.

Before she drifts off, she feels him gently tug the near-empty bottle from her hand, hears the rattle of the plastic as he closes up the Oreos and sets them on the floor beside the bed.

He'd make a good boyfriend, Clarke thinks to herself. Maybe when all of this is over, when she's not paying him and they're not muddled up with pretending, she can test that theory for real.

It's something she's looking forward to.

* * *

With nowhere to be until Saturday night, neither of them had set alarms and Clarke gets to enjoy waking up slow and natural. The room is kind of chilly but it's nice underneath the covers and she nestles further down into the blankets. Her movement stirs Bellamy, who she realizes with a start is in her bed.

Or-- she's in his bed, she remembers, mind groggy. Oops. He must have pulled the covers over her at some point, which is sweet when he could have more easily woken her and sent her to her own bed.

He sighs and turns onto his back, his head turned toward her as he rubs at his eyes.

"Morning," she mumbles.

"Hey." He slips his glasses on and props a hand behind his head, smirking at her. "Hung over?"

"I wasn't even drunk," she protests, stretching until her joints pop and grinning when he winces. "Sorry I commandeered your bed."

"No worries. Like I said, I can sleep through anything. And you didn't even kick me. That much."

Clarke groans, letting her eyes close as she knocks his arm with the back of her hand, irrationally annoyed by how firm it is. "You could have gone to my bed."

"Seemed like a lot of work. You got a plan for today?"

"Nothing in mind." She opens her eyes more fully and finds him watching her with a smile. It's a lot to deal with before coffee. "You?"

"Nope. But I'm sure we can come up with something."

Clarke takes him to a coffee shop in the small downtown area, a quiet companionship between them as they settle in with their laptops and their own work. Once they get stiff from sitting still, they grab sandwiches to go and eat as they stroll around. There's a small flea market up in town square and they compete to see who can find the weirdest thing for sale, but they get sidetracked when they find a booth full of old records and books. Clarke spends a lot of time struggling not to laugh as Bellamy haggles over a set of _encyclopaediae_.

"And I thought this fundraiser tonight was going to be pretentious," she teases as she helps him lug the books back to the car. He's flipping through the top one on his stack, this pleased expression on his face, and it might be the cutest thing she's ever seen. Not that it wasn't also really hot, watching the self-assurance and authoritative air he put on as he negotiated. She liked that too.

Her attraction might be turning into a full-blown crush, and she isn't quite sure how to deal with that.

"They're in _Latin_ , Clarke. I couldn't pass that up."

"Clearly not."

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"It totally is." He ducks his head, smiling again and she smiles too. "Seriously, Bellamy. Are you planning to actually sit down and read an encyclopedia? In Latin?"

"No not really. I'll definitely look at them, see if there's anything really cool, but mostly I'm just planning to put them up in my office to intimidate my students."

"Really cultivate that history nerd aesthetic."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, I don't think you need the help. But they are very pretty books."

"Not everyone gets that read on me so quickly," he grumbles. "A lot of people think I'm cool."

"These will set them straight."

Bellamy snorts a laugh and shakes his head. "Shut up, Clarke."

Unfortunately for the crush-like feelings she's nurturing, Bellamy isn't totally wrong. Most people, if they haven't spent an extended amount of time with him, probably don't see past how hot he is. Just because Clarke _can_ doesn't mean she always _does_ , and it's a real problem for her when they start getting ready for the evening ahead of them.

It takes her a lot longer of course, Bellamy taking another stab at his dissertation as she curls her hair and does her makeup nicer. But it takes him longer to get into his tux than it does for Clarke to slip into her dress, and he's still in the bathroom with the door closed when it comes time for them to leave.

"Bellamy?" Clarke calls, knocking lightly. "You okay in there?"

"Struggling with the bow tie," comes the petulant reply. Clarke bites down on a smile.

"Need a hand?"

There's a pause and then the door swings open.

"Please tell me you actually know how--"

It takes her a moment to notice that he's stopped mid-sentence because she's too busy drinking in the sight of him, the crisp lines of the suit drawing attention to the cut of his jaw and the width of his shoulders. She realizes she's staring just a couple of beats too late and clears her throat, flicking her eyes up to meet his.

It's a little gratifying to find that he's taking her in the same way, his jaw loose and his eyes hungry as they trace over her dress. Clarke's cheeks go pink. She'd worried when she pulled this dress out that it showed too much cleavage for what was supposed to be a professional event, but now she's glad for it. If it makes his face look like that.

"I bet YouTube could help us out," she says, belated. Bellamy blinks rapidly, gathering his wits about him.

"Good plan."

She doesn't think she breathes the whole time she's standing up close to him, trying to copy the video they found, and it's both a relief and a disappointment when she gets it tied and has to step away.

"Am I passable?" He asks, voice gruff.

"Very 007. And if you feel out of place, just talk about all the Latin books you bought today."

Getting back to the status quo of teasing each other seems to settle them both. He holds his arm out to her, a familiar expression of fond exasperation written on his face.

"Never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," she agrees cheerfully, letting him escort her to the car and even open her door for her.

The butterflies in Clarke's stomach as they walk into the room have nothing to do with feeling out of her element and everything to do with Bellamy's arm in hers.

"Where to first?" He asks, looking down at her expectantly. "Find our table? Check out the silent auction?"

"Open bar," Clarke decides, making him grin. "Then we can go see what's up for auction."

"I sense more heckling on the agenda for tonight."

She gets a flash of a memory, the two of them laughing and tipsy and soft on his bed last night and it makes her cheeks rosy.

"I'm pretty sure that's unavoidable," she agrees.

"How much are we drinking?" He asks, looking over the menu on the bar. She presses in closer against him for a better look. "Just so I can be prepared."

"I'd say as much as we need to, but I think we'll be conspicuous if we take too many trips to the bar during the slideshow later."

"Then I'd like one of whatever has the highest alcohol content," he tells the bartender. "And she'll take--"

"A glass of Pinot. For now."

Bellamy ends up with a cocktail that is shockingly pink and he's grinning as he carries it across the room toward the auction.

"I can't wait for all the conversations you're going to have tonight about toxic masculinity," She says, taking his arm again to steady herself. She doesn't wear heels very often and she might wind up with a broken ankle tonight.

"Joke's on them, this is fruity and delicious and if I have enough of them it's going to get me drunk."

"I'm so glad I brought you," she laughs. He reaches over and squeezes her hand with his own.

"I'll try not to alienate too many of your potential customers. Wouldn't want to get in the way of your _networking_."

"I appreciate it."

They make the rounds on the items up for auction, placing a few modest bids that wouldn't break the bank, but that they expect to get swallowed up by more lucrative offers as the evening goes on. Bellamy puts a higher figure down for the all expenses paid Hawaii trip, telling her he'd expect her to split the cost with him if they won, and Clarke tries not to think about how much she'd like to go on that trip with him.

She's almost forgotten their ruse, their comfortable exchanges too similar to the rest of their day together, but when they find their table, of course Lexa and Costia are already seated there. Bellamy pulls her chair out for her, his hands brushing her back comfortingly, and she smiles at him in thanks.

"Costia, this is Clarke," Lexa says, polite although Clarke is certain everyone at the table has already heard about everyone else. She offers her a smile anyway, which Costia hesitantly returns.

"I've heard only good things." Bellamy settles close to her side in his own seat and she lets herself take his hand. "This is Bellamy."

"Nice to meet you," he offers. Lexa and Costia respond in kind and an awkward silence falls over the table.

"Did you guys bid on anything?" Bellamy asks, and Clarke is so relieved she could kiss him. She lets him lead the conversation, Costia relaxing into it as they get to know each other, Clarke and Lexa jumping in from time to time.

She would have made the small talk herself, but if she'd tried to start a conversation with Costia, one of them would have inevitably ended up on the defensive; if she'd tried to talk to Lexa, it would have been a minefield of trying not to be too familiar. Bellamy somehow senses that she needs him to take the lead and breaks the tension with an effortless charm she's seen when their group is out at bars, and it's-- honestly, he's so great. She needs to do something about it, and soon.

He kisses her hair when he gets up for another round of drinks. Clarke knows the smile on her face is probably giving herself away, but she can't repress it.

"I suppose whoever made the seating chart thought we'd be more comfortable with guests our own age," Lexa says, pulling Clarke's attention. Costia has slipped away for the bathroom, and Lexa brought it up, so Clarke feels okay addressing the elephant in the room.

"Little did they know."

Lexa snorts, an undignified sound Clarke never got to hear often. Costia seems to have loosened her up a little. It's good for her, she thinks. "It hasn't been too terrible, has it?"

"No, not terrible at all." Clarke pauses. "You're happy?"

"I am." Lexa subtly jerks her chin toward Bellamy, who is double-fisting pink cocktails, and Clarke has to smile again as her heart does a little flip. "Are you?"

"Very happy."

"I'm glad."

"Yeah." Bellamy slides back in beside her and she leans into his side. "Me too."

* * *

They'd had the foresight to Uber to the fundraiser and Clarke is glad for it as she sways toward Bellamy while they wait for their ride. His arm comes around her, steadying her with a hand on her waist. They don't say anything, just stand there wrapped up in each other until the car arrives. Once they're on the highway, Clarke reaches over and takes his hand. He laces his fingers through hers without hesitation and her heart does the flippy thing again.

He doesn't let go when they get back to the hotel, scooping her shoes up from where she's kicked them on the floor of the car so she can hold her skirt with her free hand. His hand is warm and big, holding her close as they make their way through the lobby, and she wants this so badly she can taste it.

"What time is checkout tomorrow?" He asks when they get to the room.

"Eleven," Clarke answers, rooting around in her bag and coming up triumphant with an envelope. He looks amused as she crosses to where he's standing and hands it over, but his expression turns to confusion as he rifles through it.

"Is this--"

"What I owe you. For the weekend." He looks up at her, his face clouded with an inscrutable expression.

"Clarke--"

"And now that that's taken care of," she says, and leans up to plant her lips on his.

He's frozen for a moment, still trying to catch up, but she's not worried. She moves her lips gently against his, coaxing a kiss out of him, and that's when he gets with the program. His arms come around her and his hands thread in her hair, holding her close as he deepens it.

She's definitely dated other people since the bad breakup. Some of whom she really liked. But none of them made her feel like _this._ Happy and silly and lit up with _potential_. It's possible she's never felt this way before.

They kiss until the world spins around her, and she clutches at his lapels and giggles against his mouth, feeling his returning smile against her cheek.

"What?" He asks, running his hand over her back like he wants to touch her everywhere and doesn't know where to start. She can relate.

"You should go on a date with me," she says, nosing at his jaw. "A real one, I mean. When we get back."

"Yeah?" He kisses her again, tempering it more this time. She whines when he pulls away and he laughs into the skin of her neck. "We're drunk, Clarke."

"I know. I'll ask you again tomorrow. But-- The past few days have been so good. I don't want it to be fake."

Bellamy grins against her pulse point. "It wasn't fake. Not for me. Not really. Think of it more as... my audition."

"Your audition?" Her hand finds his hair and she tilts her head to the side, giving him more room to work with. He hums in agreement and the rumble of it sends shivers down her spine.

"Once I figured out how much I liked you, I decided I was going to be such a great fake boyfriend you wouldn't be able to say no when I asked you out later."

Clarke laughs, giddy. "Devious."

"It worked, didn't it?"

She tugs him back up and gets his lips on hers again, fruity and firm and perfect.

"It absolutely did."

* * *

This time when she wakes in Bellamy's bed she has one of his arms wrapped across her waist. She smiles and snuggles further into him, replaying last night over and over in her mind. They hadn't gone too far, drunk as they were, but what little fooling around they did do was very promising indeed.

She traces her fingers over the arc of his cheek, the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, and he grunts under her, taking a startled breath in. She bites back a laugh but the shaking of her body makes him crack one eye open.

"You still want to go out with me?" She asks in a whisper, slotting one of her knees between his. He's a little bit hard but nothing too distracting she hopes. It's just nice.

"Later," he grunts, pulling her closer and burying his face in her hair.

"Good," she says, curling a fist against his chest and letting her eyes drift closed. "Just checking."


End file.
